When an enigmatic man in a bowler hat arrives in a rough-and-tumble frontier town in Arizona, circa 1890, the locals question his motives. He claims to be a government worker in one account; in others, he’s a preacher. His prim attire and gentle demeanor certainly makes him seem like he’s on the side of some righteous authority. But then why is he searching for the names of dead Mexican laborers and willing to pay anyone who can add to his list?
If you’ve read Nikolai Gogol’s “Dead Souls,” which this weirdo western of the same name is loosely adapted from, you’ll know the answer. Strindler, the mysterious visitor played by the director Alex Cox, sounds an awful lot like swindler, which is one of the countless winks and bone-dry gags scattered around this mean satire about American cycles of exploitation.
A counterculture heavyweight in the 1980s and ’90s, Cox (“Repo Man,” “Straight to Hell”) got $214,000 for “Dead Souls” via a Kickstarter campaign. The artistic independence afforded by such a financing scheme certainly shows: Cox shot on location in Mezcal, Ariz., and Alméria, Spain (the capital of 1960s spaghetti westerns) and wrote the script with Gianni Garko, one of the genre’s leading men. Strindler’s journey, which consists mostly of cryptic exchanges with locals in saloons and stables, is punctuated by exciting detours (one, for instance, is a musical number involving zombies).
The film’s small budget shows in the flat cinematography and stagy performances, but this effect — in which Wild West intrigue comes off as comically wooden — also vibes with Cox’s metacommentary on cinema and his own place within its lineage. These details will almost certainly be lost on those unfamiliar with the director’s shtick. Meet Cox halfway, however, and “Dead Souls” makes for a riotous swan song.
Dead Souls Not rated. Running time: 1 hour 28 minutes. In theaters.
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